


The Sense of Her

by Jaded_Girl_83



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canon Concurrent, F/M, pre-series missing moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaded_Girl_83/pseuds/Jaded_Girl_83
Summary: She weaves in and out of every one of his senses...





	The Sense of Her

**Author's Note:**

> Canon concurrent until part 5, when it becomes canon compliant. FMA and characters do not belong to me.

**Smell**

Oxygen supports the flame. Feed in enough oxygen and fuel can almost burn forever, burn brighter and more intense than any natural fire.  Hydrogen is different, but no less effective.  Hydrogen is an invisible bomb, not as long-lasting or accurate, but infinitely faster.

He has been showered with the remnants of his opponents. He has been coated and smudged with their ash.  He has watched living torches of people, _bonfires_ made up of a crowd of human beings.  He had thought that the smell of roasted human flesh no longer had the power to sicken his stomach.

But this time it was _her_ flesh blistering, _her_ skin sizzling and cracking, and he nearly vomited all over the floor.  It took all his willpower not to drop to his knees.  He watched her back heave, glistening with sweat wherever the burns stopped.  Her breath wheezed and hitched as she tried to contain her screams, her shoulders and hips writhing as she tried to ride out the pain.

The white-gloved hand held out in front of him shook. He tried to force the uncooperative arm back to stillness; his aim needed to be steady, to be true, to finish the task.  The damned tattoo was massive and intricate, and he’d only obliterated the upper left corner and a tiny portion of the lower right.  He cursed his master viciously.  The thought of Berthold putting his own _daughter_ through that…  

Her hand twisted into one of the pillows, her nails digging into the pliant surface. He watched as a bead of sweat ran down from her neck, and she hissed as it reached the line of red welts.  Her back muscles twitched again, and she let out a small whimper as her scorched flesh protested the movement.  Again, his stomach heaved up into his throat, and Roy lowered his arm.  He could stand there until the devil finally took him, but he would never be able to bring himself to do that again.

“M-major?” Riza rasped.

“It’s done,” he croaked, ripping the textured glove off his hand. He strangled the urge to throw it to the ground and grind it into the floorboards.

She was silent for a moment. Then, in what was probably the bravest thing she’d ever said, observed in a small voice, “It… doesn’t feel like it’s done.”

“It’s enough,” he snapped, and immediately wanted to incinerate his own tongue. Hadn’t he caused her enough pain already?  He continued in a calmer voice.  “The runes are incredibly dense and detailed, and almost a quarter of them are gone.  Not even a prodigy alchemist could decipher them now.”  Not without time and painstaking research, at least.  Not to mention trial and error.  And Roy would spend the rest of his life ensuring that any such activity would be brought to his immediate attention and dealt with.

She was silent again, no doubt gauging his answer. Before she could say anything else, he strode over to the bag of medical supplies he’d brought.  He’d doctored burns before, and knew what to bring and what to do.  He’d made sure to bring the highest quality medicines, and a wider range of treatment items than he usually used for himself.

It was the very least he could do.

He went through the motions mechanically- cooling, cleaning, coating, binding. She throttled another cry of pain as he began to apply the aloe and anti-bacterial creams, but relaxed as they began to do their job of soothing the inflamed skin.  

He hoped she hadn’t noticed his hands shaking.

He stood when her back was bound up. “I’ve brought a full dose of antibiotics and some heavy-duty painkillers,” he said gruffly as he washed his hands.  “Take the latter as needed and make sure you finish the former.  Make sure you stay hydrated as well; your body will need to replenish the moisture.”

The floorboards creaked behind him. The smell of the aloes grew stronger.  “What about the dressings?”  Her voice was almost steady.

He turned, forcing himself look her in the eye. It was almost as difficult as burning her had been.  “I’ll be by once a day to help you change them.  Try not to put any pressure on the skin, and keep the bandages clean and dry.  I’ve called in a couple of favors; you’re on leave for two weeks.  We’ll evaluate how you’re healing at the end of it.”

She hesitated, then nodded.  They stood in awkward silence for a long moment. That damned and damning smell was still thick in the air, noticeable even under the strong smell of ointments and aloes.  The smell of roasted human flesh.  And that smell was _her_.  The shy and sweet girl.  The girl who’d flinched when whenever her father approached, but still followed the intimidating alchemist with eyes hoping for love and approval.  The girl who had draped a blanket over Roy’s shoulders whenever he’d fallen asleep at his desk atop a pile of transcribed alchemy notes.  The girl who never failed to bring out snacks and refreshments for two men lost in research.  The girl whose voice had started out hesitant but gained in assurance the night that Roy had asked her about her dreams and goals.  The girl who had always been a calm ray of light and encouragement to him whenever the intensity of her father and his training had proven overwhelming.  The girl whose clear gaze had been clouded with many Ishbalan murders, but whose soul remained pure enough to be traumatized by the words of that bastard Kimblee.

The girl whose back was now a sea of blisters.

The bile rose up in his throat again. “I should go.  Contact me if you have any questions.  I’ll swing by here tomorrow evening to see to the dressing.”

She blinked and opened her mouth, but he was out the door before she even finished her farewell.

* * *

**Taste**

Salt. Salt water.

He had only blacked out for a moment, but it was long enough to send him sprawling to the floor. Blood loss and pain from his self-cauterized injury threatened him with full unconsciousness, but he was called back from the brink by the curious drops of salt water threading through his cracked lips, washing away the sticky feeling of gaseous human fat that was all that remained of the homunculus known as Lust.  Blood sluggishly returned to his ears as well as he heard a desperate voice shouting, “Colonel!”

The world around him focused into the Lieutenant’s tear-streaked face set against a backdrop of smoke. He realized that it had been her tears he has tasted, falling on his face and trailing to his mouth, and he found the thought strangely intimate.  Her face briefly flooded with relief before concern reasserted itself.  “Are you all right, sir?” she cried, reaching out to steady him as he tried to rise.

“Oh Lieutenant, you’re safe,” he babbled in his pain-addled state. The frantic gunfire he’d heard coming from the far-off chamber had kept him clinging to consciousness during the cauterization process.  The infinitely more terrifying silence that had followed had given him the strength to travel down the hallway- more strength than he’d known he possessed.  He frowned; thinking back on it, something had been strangely _wrong_ about her posture when he’d entered the room.  Roy tucked the thought aside to examine later.

Her face twitched, and he knew she would have scowled at him if she hadn’t been beside herself with anxiety. “Worry about yourself, sir!” she said, the words spoken somewhere between a bark and flat-out pleading.

The room spun on its axis and Roy determined that standing was most definitely not an option. She guided him to a prone position, and he found himself musing at her words.  In a way, wasn’t that what he’d been doing?  What other conclusion could you reach when _that_ life, _that_ person’s safety was more precious than his own?  And to that purpose…

He craned his neck to look at the seven-foot tall suit of armor standing to one side. “Alphonse,” he rasped, making a mental note of every missing piece and battle scar, “thank you for protecting my subordinate.”

“Never mind that!” came the anxious, flustered reply, the echo of a young boy’s voice incongruent with the hulking armor. “We have to call a doctor!”

The sudden recollection of two thin lances erased the smile from his lips. “Yes, hurry,” he coughed.  “Call a doctor for Havok.”  Those injuries had looked dangerously close to the spine, and cauterization was no true replacement for surgical stitches.  As for his own injuries, they could wait. 

After all, what right did Roy have to complain about suffering burns? 

* * *

**Touch**

His glove was soaked, his fingers warm and wet. She was…

Light.

She felt too damned light.

It was such an inane thought to scurry around the back of his head, but he barely noticed. “Lieutenant!” he screamed, pressing one hand against the wound in her neck.  Her blood seeped through his glove in disturbingly regular pulses.  And the pulses were slowing down.

A fresh wave of panic clawed at him. “Pull yourself together, Lieutenant!  Open your eyes!”

She didn’t obey, though he still felt her wheezing breath against his arm. She had to stay awake, dammit!  She had to keep _fighting_!

A small girl with pigtails and a tiny panda suddenly appeared next to him. Roy distantly recognized her as one of the travelers from Xing.  “Leave her to me!” she barked as she swiftly and surely traced a transmutation circle with the Lieutenant’s blood.  Desperation was the only thing that could have convinced Roy to let go of her, but he was a very desperate man.  He carefully lowered her into the center of the circle as the Xing girl threw daggers into its border. 

The crackle of energy dissipated, but the smell of ozone remained. He stared at the wound, trying to see if blood still flowed from it.  The Lieutenant groaned, and Roy instantly leaned over her, crouching on his hands and knees.  “Lieutenant!”  he shouted, panic still thick in his throat. 

The Xing girl- what was her name, again?- spoke urgently from his side. “I’ve stopped the bleeding for now.  Now you need to get her to a proper doctor!”

He heard nothing past the first four words. He gathered her into his arms, unwilling to let her be any farther from him.  “Thank you,” he croaked, almost sobbling with painful, anguished relief. 

Light.

She still felt too damned light.

Her jacket was soaked and heavy, but Roy could swear that he could sense the missing weight of the blood that should have been in her body. His right trouser leg was wet, and he realized that he was kneeling in that deep puddle of her blood.  The thought wracked him with shivers, and he clutched her to his chest- tightly, suddenly, desperately.

“Colonel?”

Her voice was weak, shaky, and the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard in his life. He loosened his grip just enough to let him see her face.  Her brow was furrowed, trying to keep her eyes open.  “I’m sorry-”

Don’t you dare. Don’t you even dare.  “Don’t try to speak!” he urged instead.  “Just rest!”

It was not in her nature to rest- the strong, stubborn, magnificent creature. Her gaze was clear and steady, and the faintest of smiles hid in the corner of her mouth.  “I’m glad… that you noticed… my eye signals…”

He let loose a brittle smirk of his own. But this was the game they played- had to play- and even this was an intense relief.  “For as long as we’ve been a team, how could I not?”  His voice, the words, were huskier and more meaning-laden then they should have been, especially in public.  He let the smile go crooked.  “Also, the look on your face said, ‘I’ll kill you if you mess with human transmutation!’” he quipped.

The truth of his statement actually made her laugh, or as near as she could in her state. He felt his heart leap into his throat and his arms tightened around her once more.

“Careful!” the Xing girl whispered. “If you squeeze her too hard her wound will reopen!”

He knew she was right, but though his brain tried to tell his arms to be gentle, his arms refused to obey. He’d almost-

No.

Yes. Face it you coward.

He’d almost lost her.

But she was here now. She was alive and smiling and a wonderful weight in his arms.  If he could have been granted one wish, it would be to keep holding her like this forever, feeling her warmth and solid bulk pressed against his heart.  But damned beings like him were owed no favors, and if he was, he’d just used up every single one he had left.

It had been worth every penny. 

* * *

**Sound**

“Yes sir!”

Her voice was like a clarion call, more inspiring than the national anthem played with full orchestra. Her voice was clear and strong, as strong as she was.  No doubts, no second guesses, no hesitation… she’d left that all behind in Ishbal.  Left it behind when she endured the flames on her back.  Left it behind when he told her to always keep a gun trained on _his_ back.  She was unshakable, even after a suffering a mortal injury only barely healed.

His shoulders were still knotted with tension, because they were in the middle of a battle. His stomach was still knotted with tension, because he was _blind_ and the future- his hopes and plans and goals and ambitions- were murky at best, dashed at worst, and utterly uncertain either way.  But amidst all the dangers and uncertainty surrounding him, despite the tension everywhere else, his chest felt strangely free, untouched by the anxiety that otherwise racked him.  The one constant in his life- the most precious one- had proven unassailable.  He could feel the wobble in her steps even as she tried to steady his own, a testimony to the blood she’d lost to her near-fatal wound.  But her voice remained steady and strong as she rattled off directions and coordinates, guiding his blinded hand so that he could still fight.

He still listened carefully every time she spoke, ears peeled for any quaver, any tremor that would indicate that she was pushing herself past her limits. He couldn’t help doing so, despite knowing that whether either of them surpassed their limits was irrelevant.  Everyone needed to do whatever they could to stop this “Father” creature, damn the personal consequences.  Otherwise there’d be no survival for anyone.

But he still listened. Because her voice, like all of her, was precious.  Because her voice gave him strength.  Because he trusted her voice to guide him through utter darkness. 

Because if he was going to die, her voice was the last thing he wanted to hear. 

* * *

**Sight**

“Colonel Mustang?” Doctor Marcoh’s voice repeated in steady inquiry.

The blazing light and intense burning sensation slowly faded as Roy’s consciousness fully returned. The resolute blackness was gone, replaced by the dull and diffuse darkness of skin keeping sunlight at bay.  Even though his eyes were still closed, he knew the philosopher’s stone had worked.

“Come on, you bastard,” another, rougher voice spat- definitely Doctor Knox. Roy smothered a grin, listening to the sharp intake of breath on either side of him as he eased himself into a sitting position.  They were all waiting for a miracle, and the tension in the air was thick.  But where the tension was thickest, there was no sound.

He angled his face directly at that tense, quiet spot, and forced his eyes open. He blinked rapidly against the painful brightness, the world a blur of colored blobs.  But each blink brought the world into greater focus, and after a moment, everything was crystal clear.

She was so damned beautiful.

He forced one side of his mouth up into a smirk. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Lieutenant.”

Her entire body heaved with the force of the breath she released. She gave him a look that he could have spent an entire lifetime mining for meaning, her eyes clouding briefly with a sheen of tears.  They were in a public place, a military place, so she didn’t move and he didn’t say anything else.  He just drank in the sight of her- alive and well and _her_ \- and knew she was doing the same.

Off to his right, Knox rolled his eyes and muttered something about the love of God and just getting something over with already. Marcoh came over and tried to shine a small light into his eyes, and for another handful of seconds Roy ignored the doctor’s instructions.  But a moment of self-indulgence was all he could afford, and he tore his gaze away from her to perform the tasks that would confirm that Roy’s eyesight had been fully restored.

“Just don’t tell me I need glasses now,” he mock-complained as Marcoh scribbled down his notes. “Doing all that paperwork is tedious enough without having to adjust some wire-framed nuisance every two seconds.  And the last thing my assistant needs is something else to have to keep track of!”

She gave a little snort that was still somewhat like a sob, and filled her lungs for a cutting reply. But that breath caught, and he could see the words die in her throat.  His grin soured in one corner, a silent apology for making light of it too soon.  Her eyes softened in response, though her stoic expression did not otherwise move. 

Knox swore again and left the room with some comment about not being able to take it anymore.


End file.
